


Hard to Breathe

by lynnmonster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Other, Sibling Incest, UST, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-16
Updated: 2005-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnmonster/pseuds/lynnmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relief.</p><p>It was so sweet. Sam took another gasping breath and savored the feeling: the air, strong arms around him, the incredible lightness of his head, his heart. It felt like the first time he was able to breathe, really breathe, since Jessica died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Не вздохнуть](https://archiveofourown.org/works/833556) by [chemerika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemerika/pseuds/chemerika)



> Thanks to my betas, estrella30 and shayheyred, for saving me from the worst of my excesses.

Relief.

It was so sweet. Sam took another gasping breath and savored the feeling: the air, strong arms around him, the incredible lightness of his head, his heart. It felt like the first time he was able to breathe, really _breathe_, since Jessica died.

***

The nightmares didn't stop. Neither did the foreshadowing dreams. Sam couldn't always tell them apart, but they kept haunting him, talking to him in trails of breadcrumbs and isolated images, mocking him with dream-logic that was turning out to be real more often than not. 

Dean had finally stopped telling him how tired he looked weeks ago, but Sam noticed he always turned the car stereo down when they had a long stretch of road ahead of them. Dean would cast him worried glances out of the corner of his eye when he thought Sam wasn't looking. Sam didn't like upsetting Dean, so he'd started pretending to sleep. And, really, between the steady rumble of the engine and the familiar stuck-in-the-80s music, with the warm presence of his brother so close by ... he _should_ be able to relax, he knew it, and hated that he had to fake even those little catnaps.

But there was just _too much_, and not just when he succumbed to exhaustion. Sam was feeling things, too -- sensing more and more things that nobody else could. Sometimes, it was helpful. Sometimes, it was more of a gut instinct than anything else, and then he'd know what to do, now that he was learning to trust those misgivings and unfounded hunches. But for the most part he couldn't figure out what those things might mean until after the fact, and he was beginning to really, truly fear that all the extra psychic noise was going to drive him insane.

***

Sam tried drinking, but that just made everything spinny in a way that made him want to hurl. Worse yet, the sensation carried over into any dreams he might have after he passed out. He tried banging his head against the nearest solid object, but that just gave him more of a headache. He tried music and tv and digging his knuckles into his skull, but behind the beat or the chatter or the pressure the same things always waited.

He tried being quiet and alone in the dark, but the shapes he saw then made him shudder.

He couldn't remember not feeling like this. 

Oh, wait. _(Dean was clutching him, and Sam was gasping--)_ Yes, he could.

***

Dean was out. He'd left the motel in search of the local pool hall, and he wouldn't be back for hours yet.

Sam was on the bed Dean had slept in the night before. He was holding his breath, belt looped around his throat for when his body gave in to the need for air before he was ready. One hand was tugging the leather strap tight, the other already working furiously inside his unzipped fly. 

He screwed his eyes shut and pictured the first time -- the power cord looped around his neck, Dean straddling his leg, Dean's frantic but decisive movements as he came to the rescue. Sam's desperation rose as he pushed the obscene parody to the limit. 

Sam pictured the look that had been in Dean's eyes, the liquid emotion laid bare. Involuntarily he tried to suck in a breath and failed, and moved his hand even faster in response. His vision was greying out around the edges and his hips were driving helplessly upward as he chased after air and resolution and release, caught in a frantic suspended moment of panic and need -- _please, oh please, oh please, *Dean*_ -- and then he came, and came, and came, letting the belt slide loose so he could finally breathe again. 

***

Sam woke up after an hour or so of blessed blankness and moved back to his own crappy bed. He punched the pillow into submission and stared up at the ceiling, as restless as always already.

Dean had carried him as a child, and then Dean had rescued him in that house again, but he was pretty certain that even Dean couldn't save him this time.

  



End file.
